Flash Fiction: Dogged Deterrence

Like a dog, he thought, trailing a step behind her through the market street. Whatever amounted to morning here was in full effect, commoners and slaves rushing about to start whatever amounted to their days. She led him through place, pausing occasionally to pick up something at a stall, but never bothered to check if he followed. His gaze swept the angled rooftops to the deep alleyways, lingering on anyone too interested in his master.

He found the resemblance not just in the way he was kept at her heels. If by the gods’ grace he managed to survive this servitude, he’d die, perhaps five or so decades from now. She would live on for centuries more. Whenever death found him, she would replace him with another pet to follow her about and keep the knives from her back.

It was a sobering thought, and one he didn’t rest his mind too heavily upon when he could help it. The city was one of constant change and shifting power, he did not know what the next day or decade would bring. She may become bored of his occasional defiances just as he might grow brave or treacherous enough to break his word and see the sun.

Today though, he followed her dutifully through the dim, deterring the opportunistic with his glowering presence and the rest with the wide sword strapped prominently across his broad shoulders.

Confidences and Cons

“So what’s your name this time?” Liss Kamorii asked. She moved her hands fast, practicing slipping the manacles on and off. He didn’t look too closely at the way her wrists bent; no matter the ease it looked damn painful.

“Cal Vexozi.” He said and leaned close to the mirror. The glue over his chin itched as it dried and it required deft fingers to press the false beard and moustache into something that looked real. The effect made him look substantially older and far less trustworthy.

“Vexozi.” Liss said, working her tongue over the surname. “Practicing your Vrackish then?” The manacles slipped off her wrists again.

“Af caurse.” He answered, slipping easily into the accent. The door opened into the room he’d rented and Ales, Liss’ older sister, slipped in frowning. She already wore the dingy, mostly indecent slip both sisters would be playing their parts in. “That sounds awful.”

“It’s Vrackish, it’s sauppased to saund awfaul.” He didn’t bother turning from the glass. With careful strokes he palmed rose oil through his new beard and then into his dark hair, taming it into the eastern fashion. It looked disgusting but he smelled nice, which was mostly why the merchants did it. “You two ready?”

“Yup!” Chimed Liss and beamed.

Ales however scowled. “We nearly didn’t get the sale last time.” The older girl pulled out a tin and passed it to her sister who diligently began darkening the hollows of her brown eyes. “That’s your part. He was suspicious.”

He turned and reached for Cal Vexozi’s coat. The once fine dark crimson cloth was faded, and he’d pulled a few threads from the cuffs for emphasis. “Maybe there was something wrong with the merchandise, not the seller.” He’d been pleased when the two sisters approached him with the job; an unpleasant role to play but a lucrative one. And the Kamorii sisters were good at what they did. However Ales was not the easiest going and was prone to paranoia…which was fair considering which parts they’d be playing.

“It’s not us Vexozi.” Ales checked her mused appearance past him in the mirror. Between the shift and her red lined eyes the mask was perfect. “You aren’t the one chained inside a cage.”

“Ales it turned fine last time.” Liss said softly. She’d finally ceased the constant on and off of the manacles.

“That it did. Besides, you two have never possessed problems with chains and cages. Unlike me, I get caught I’m not twisting manacles and slipping off blithely into the night. Believe me, I have a vested interest in seeing you two safe.”

Ales snorted. “Believe you? People get in trouble when they do that.”

“Which is the very reason you hired me.” He punctuated the glib response with a grin. Ales glared a little, more annoyed than angry. He was right. He shrugged the coat on. “But… a few more props wouldn’t hurt. Most merchants have guards.”

“You have any large friends who can act as well as you?” Ales crossed her arms and looked him up and down. He knew that if it were up to Ales it would just be her and her sister running the job. But slaves didn’t sell themselves.

“No.” He checked his disguise again. “But I can hire some.”

“Actors?” Ales asked skeptical.

“Friends?” Liss asked, equally as skeptical.

“Guards.” He grinned. Despite their reservations about him, he liked them.

Ales grimaced. “Is that wise? Can we trust hired muscle?”

“No, of course we can’t. But we don’t need to. We hire a tough to guard me and my merchandise during a perfectly legitimate illegitimate business venture. I still take the money and hand you over, you two slip out of bondage once Cal Vexozi is far away, and then we all get paid. No acting or lying necessary.” He paused and corrected. “On their part.”

Ales shook her head even as Liss nodded. “You hire him, he’s your prop, your issue.” Ales said.

He agreed with a short bob of his head. “Of course. You two finish making yourself look like an opportunity too good to be true, and I’ll meet you at the east tunnel.” He didn’t wait for Ales to pick another fight; they knew what to do. Cal Vexozi the slaver and down on his luck merchant stepped from the inn to go find himself a guard.

DPchallenge: The Power of a Name

This is for the Weekly Writing Challenge: Power of Names

The seas rolled. He’d extricated himself from his small hammock and climbed out onto the fishing boat’s small deck. Other ships cut through the horizon, large ones…even bigger than the raiders he watched fly their red sails. These sails were not red; he could not tell what color they were in the dark.

His mother worked to pull their own sails into place, movements rushed and frantic. Her eyes widened when she saw him. She called out to him, his name lost in the storm. His father took over the rigging as she rushed to him. One of her words made it past the crash of wind, wave and sail, Slavers.

Other fishers burned like beacons in the distance.

They tried to flee, the sea helping them, catching their small boat and sending it darting through the chaos. But the enemy ships were fast too. It was arrows that took his father, one first to the arm, the second to his chest. His mother took the boat then. Her braids swung around her face as she pulled against the sails, eyes dry and teeth biting her lip until it bled. He was still too small to work the rigging, they’d had a chance with two, but with one…. the large ship caught them. When the first man climbed over their low rail his mother took his head off with her sword. The second lost a hand and was quickly kicked into the sea. But more were coming.

His mother scrambled to him, pulling him to her in a tight embrace. And then she said his name, but it was lost in the storm again.  Her arms closed around him, squeezing him and telling him that she loved him. And then she stood, tears finally wetting her eyes, and pushed him over the edge of the fishing boat.

Water filled his lungs as his head went under. He hung, suspended in cold and dark. Shock numbed his mind even as instinct moved his limbs. He broke the surface for a moment. Long enough to cough, long enough to see men crawl over their fishing boat. His mother stood, sword in her hand as the seas rolled the deck under her. Her gaze found him, fury and sorrow flashing in her eyes. Never a slave, she mouthed. The storm brought the words to him even as it stole his name. His mother reversed the blade and drove it into her stomach up through her ribs.

He might have screamed, he did not know, but water again filled his mouth and a crashing wave pulled him under into the dark.

***

Calder woke in the dark. He breathed out, assuring himself for the moment that he could. The room was the same as always, his sword ready by the blanket’s edge. He let his eyes linger on it too long. His master accounted for all escapes, but he still entertained the hope sometimes.

He stood from the bed, stretching his limbs. Sleep wouldn’t be an option tonight; it never was after that particular dream. Calder labeled it a dream, not a memory. Because even as the storm pulled it away, he knew his mother always called out the wrong name.